


Fur

by RickishMorty



Series: Pocket Mortys [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Death, Halloween, M/M, Psycho Rick, Rape, Underage - Freeform, evil rabbit morty, non con, pocket mortys - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22528447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickishMorty/pseuds/RickishMorty
Summary: Evil Rabbit Morty and why his fur has become so dirty.
Series: Pocket Mortys [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1690252
Comments: 9
Kudos: 31





	Fur

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bloodrunsred](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodrunsred/gifts).



> Hello everyone!
> 
> This is a gift for bloodrunsred (I hope you like Rach <3), who threw me a "challenge" on the story of Evil Rabbit Morty and his abusive Rick. Obviously it's an experiment and my version of why Evil Rabbit Morty's fur has become so dirty and worn.
> 
> I'm sorry it's so short, but there are some stories that don't need to be too long.
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked it!

There was a dimension in which Halloween was 340 days a year.

Nothing sensational, compared to the myriad of Nazi alternatives or the dimension of the Cronenbergs.

In fact, it was like living in The Nightmare Before Christmas. Paradoxically, the film in that dimension didn’t exist. Too self-referential, perhaps.

Everybody was masked, every day: every house had a gigantic costume department and even the children had rudiments of makeup with which they could mask themselves.

Dracula, Frankenstein, werewolves, zombies, Scream, Freddy, Jason. Since Stranger Things become famous, there were also several Demogorgons.

There was someone, however, who was more afraid of others. In the middle of the street, there was a house that was often avoided to make Trick or Treat. The sweets obtained from there were strange and more than one child had experienced a strange somnolence that had led his parents to tell him to get away from there. The few who had made jokes to the landlord in the following days had been victims of some unfortunate event.

The owner was a tall, thin man with cold gray eyes and an ambiguous smile always printed on the face.

His name was Rick and his mask was that of It.

The neighborhood kids had built legends about him, rumoring that he had never taken off his costume, being born in it, and that the color of his skin was truly white like that of a clown. His hair was dyed with blood red. A red balloon was always attached to his mailbox.

His garden was quite normal, to be honest, compared to the others: no grave, no cross and no ghost or scarecrow. The only things that could be found were old toys, such as a ruined red rocking horse and a rusty iron slide. Too bad no one ever used them.

The most persistent rumors, however, were not about the killer clown, but about his grandson: Morty.

Unlike his grandfather, the boy never smiled. His gaze always had a sort of concern, which made him unstable and sad.

Both could be seen very little outside the villa; Morty didn’t attend school and it was said that it was Rick who gave him all the lessons he needed, in a private education.

Rumors said he was sick, misshapen or just plain mad. The few who had managed to speak with him had called him retarded, thanks to the prejudice about his stutter.

The most absurd thing, however, was his costume: a thick fur that covered him from head to foot, leaving only his face uncovered. It was obviously not the fur that was strange, but the color: his costume was pink, a candy pink, clear.

This, along with everything else, had made him the obvious target of the neighborhood bullies, who dedicated him whenever possible the worst tricks. He was their favorite pastime.

But what they did was a treat compared to what Rick did.

If outside the villa it was Halloween for almost twelve months, inside it was a horror 365 days a year.

Morty was in front of the windows, that were darkened, nobody could see what was going on inside, but he could see everything that was going on outside. And he did it every day.

Costumed kids, adults who used pumpkins instead of prams and candy everywhere. Laughter, screams, shouts. There was a lot of life out there.

Morty hugged himself, stroking the pink fur of his costume in an attempt to reassure himself, to have human contact.

Two cold, long-fingered hands landed on his, causing the boy to stop breathing. He swallowed, suddenly feeling cold despite what he was wearing. Indeed, he generally sweated in that suit that he was forced to wear even in the height of summer.

"Hey... How's my bunny?"

Rick ran his hands from his arms to the boy's shoulders, also looking out of the window.

Morty could feel the man's body behind his.

"W-well, Rick ... T-thanks."

"Good boy…"

For Morty that conversation could have ended there, but generally when the silence came something bad happened.

Rick stroked the fur again, bringing his face close to smelling the boy's hair. Morty clenched his teeth.

"R-Rick... Can I get out?"

Rick stopped, staying with his mouth on his hair, before breaking away.

"Why, baby? They will make fun of you, you know it, don’t you...? ".

Morty took a deep breath, looking out the window at the boys playing.

"If-if I went out... they wouldn't r-recognize me..."

Morty turned, meeting the creepy face of the clown, with red lips like eyes.

"... if I didn't wear the co-costume."

The two remained silent, with Morty looking down at him, refraining from biting his lips. He held Rick's spirited gaze, knowing well what he had asked for and how much he was risking. Maybe everything.

Rick stood, motionless, narrowing his eyes for a moment as he looked at him.

Morty was ready for a slap, a punch, a spit, a push.

Instead, a smile came.

Rick smiled at him smoothly, bringing a hand to stroke his cheek.

"Do you want to take off your costume, bunny?"

Morty vibrated with fear at the touch of his hand, freezing, before nodding his head.

Yes. Yes, he wanted it more than anything else.

Rick widened his smile.

"Take it off".

Morty frowned. What it was? Was it an ok? Or was it...

The moment Rick's smile faded as it appeared, Morty understood.

"Take it off".

It was an order.

And it had to be done right away.

Morty felt his eyes prickle as he shook his head slightly, stepping back to the window.

"N-no, Rick... P-please ..."

Rick raised an eyebrow.

"What? Did you change your mind? Just now that you convinced me... ".

Rick came over, bringing a hand to Morty's chest and grabbing him by the costume, snapping him closer.

"Do it, or I do it."

Morty jerked his hands to Rick's, before swallowing one last time and nodding. Rick left him and Morty took a step back again.

His face was warm and his eyes were shiny. The boy put his hands under his neck, at the mouth of the costume: hidden in the fur there was a zip. Morty slid it down, just as tears ran down his cheeks. Rick's eyes followed the movement, hungry and morbid.

Below, the boy was completely naked.

He shrugged, causing the costume to fall to the ground. He had goosebumps and trembled with shame and fear. He hugged, looking down, holding back the sobs.

He felt Rick's gaze on him, on his naked body dressed only in bruises. It was literally covered with it. Bruises, scratches, scars, cuts, burns. He was much thinner than the dress showed. There was no flap of skin that didn’t have a mark on it.

Rick stared at him, starving, going to run a hand over his bare side. Morty jumped, helpless in front of him.

"You understand know why you can't take your costume off, bunny...?"

The hand continued to flow, while Rick took a step forward. Morty kept looking down, fixed on Rick's long clown shoes.

“Nobody have to see these bad signs. They are not nice, you know. "

Yes, they were not nice at all.

Rick came closer, going to sigh against his ear, squeezing his buttock with his hands.

"You must always be nice... Cute, small and pink".

Morty held back a gagging, looking at his own abandoned costume at his feet. He wanted to burn it, he wanted to dissolve it in acid.

"My pink little bunny..." Rick took his chin in his hands, bringing his mouth to hims and insinuating his hand into the crack of his lower back.

"That must always be tender... and defenseless".

Rick opened his mouth, eating his in a kiss that looked like a bite, soiling Morty's face with that red makeup that had stained his lips. Morty didn’t respond to the kiss, squeezing the buttocks against Rick's hand, so as not to let it pass.

Rick turned him forcefully, squeezing his neck and bending him, exposing him completely to him. Morty cried, looking out the window at the world he wanted and hated so much at the same time.

Rick often came to see him at night.

The whole day wasn’t enough for him.

But that night, Morty was prepared.

He had a long knife hidden inside his costume.

When Rick undressed him, for the umpteenth time, Morty pierced his stomach with the blade, spotting his pink red costume. He felt the hot liquid running down him and coming out of Rick's mouth, mixing with the makeup of his lips.

The helpless bunny had killed the clown by breaking his body with a force he didn't think he had.

Those red eyes, bad and sick, died on the last Halloween night of that year.

But Morty couldn't know if they would go off forever.

A Morty couldn't kill a Rick.

He could try to escape, however.

Morty lifted Rick's dead weight off him, throwing him at the foot of the bed. His costume was stained with blood, but it was the only thing he had: his other clothes had been gone for a long, long time now.

Morty opened a trunk, looking at Rick behind him as if he could get up at any moment. He rummaged inside, before finding what had been his mask, when Beth was still alive, a few years ago.

A black bunny mask, reminiscent of Frank's, by Donnie Darko. He had never worn it again.

Morty ran away from the villa, from the neighborhood, from the city.

He ran away, far away, not knowing if Rick had returned or died forever.

Orphan, he ran away for months, until his tender pink costume became dirty and filthy, like the man from whom he was desperately trying to disappear.


End file.
